Review: Metropolis (Ye Olde Rose and Crown Theatre)

Children Of Eden, Which Witch, Leonardo, King, Bernadette, The Hunting of the Snark… the late 1980s to early 1990s in the West End were vintage years for connoisseurs of extravagant musical flops. Based on Fritz Lang's 1927 expressionist silent sci-fi movie, Metropolis was probably the most epic example of this subgenre and therefore the last one I'd have excepted to see again, and certainly not in a tiny theatre above a Walthamstow pub.

The show's 1989 premiere featured a large cast and a towering Ralph Koltai set that astonishingly recreated the nightmarish subterranean industrial city of Lang's imagination – all pistons, funnels, giant cogs and wheels, walkways, lifts and platforms. With its combination of bombastic, virtually sung-through score, eye-popping spectacle and overall air of glumness, it was generally perceived as a poor relation to Les Mis and limped on for six months at the Piccadilly. A couple of the ballads survived as staples of the cabaret and audition circuit but other than that, Metropolis disappeared.

Kudos to director Tim McArthur for cleverly solving a number of the problems inherent in bringing such a huge show to a small stage: instead of bulky set pieces, McArthur and choreographer Ian Pyle have the cast rhythmically pushing and pulling each other around to simulate the movement of the machines: simple but appropriately propulsive and dynamic. The children, so integral to the story, have been replaced by puppets manipulated and voiced by adult ensemble members, to surprisingly moving effect, and Warner, the inventor of hell-raising robot Futura, responsible for the demise of the city, has been transformed into a Geschwitz-like woman with a sapphic fixation on her evil creation.

The banal story of downtrodden workers versus a callous elite class retains a simplistic relevance and does grip despite Dusty Hughes' clunky script (perfunctory at best, risible at worst). The lyrics – co-written with composer Joseph Brooks – are seldom better, often sacrificing meaning for the sake of a rhyme. The main drama and excitement here is in Brooks' eclectic, frequently thrilling music: there are massed chorales such as the anthemic "Hold Back The Night", a joyous gospel number for the full company, the aforementioned power ballads, a genuinely beautiful folky lament for the heroine near the bleak conclusion – it's almost an embarrassment of riches. The 'pop' sound is infused with a blazing theatricality and underpinned by an astringent atonality that feels appropriate for such a downbeat story. Aaron Clingham's fine vocal arrangements are breathtakingly well sung by the young ensemble. However, it's a pity that the leads aren't mic'd as they are frequently overwhelmed by the sheer volume of the magnificent choral singing.

Of the leads, the baddies fare better than the good characters: Gareth James sings like a dream and is appropriately dead-eyed and insinuating as the city's controller Freeman, and Alex Ely is satisfyingly chilling as his sidekick. As Freeman's well-meaning son who falls in love with a revolutionary worker, chisel-jawed Rob Herron unleashes a glorious ringing tenor voice but his acting when not actually singing is a bit wooden.

The dual lead role of Maria/Futura (the workers' leader and the doppelgänger robot sent to replace her) is as challenging as any in musical theatre, requiring a massive vocal and emotional range. Where the original production had Broadway powerhouse Judy Kuhn, who brought an intensity and depth that transcended the weaker material, here Miiya Alexandra – in a creditable professional debut – sings prettily but seems too uncomplicated and one-note to be fully convincing. None of the principals convey that there is enough at stake: however preposterous the plot undeniably is, these are people existing on the brink of an apocalypse.

Extensive use of dry ice, doom-laden sound effects and Vittorio Verta's clever lighting lends the whole production a suitably murky, otherworldly feel that for the most part insures against inappropriate audience laughter at how bonkers it all is. Too unremittingly po-faced and wilfully eccentric to have ever been a mainstream hit, Metropolis is essentially a collectors piece but, thanks to Brooks' enthralling music and McArthur's inventive staging, it's still an enjoyable night out.

Metropolis runs at Ye Olde Rose and Crown until 29 October.